


You Have the World At Your Fingertips (But You Are the World To Me)

by ainewrites



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, always and forever a happy ending, but a happy ending, maybe small amounts of angst, my favorite lovesick dorks, who don't know they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: She can’t take her eyes off the woman beside her. Holtzmann has her hands folded across her stomach and she’s smiling up at the night sky, so perfectly happy. And they’re already pressed together on the cold roof of the Anti-Ecto but Erin wants to reach over and pull her closer, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know why her heart skips a beat and why her body is filling with burning embers dying to be set alight and why it feels like all her atoms, her very being, is being pulled closer to the warm body beside her.-Four out-of-state busts, four chances for Erin to admit she's madly, completely, utterly in love with the brilliant engineer she works with every single day.





	You Have the World At Your Fingertips (But You Are the World To Me)

**Author's Note:**

> IT IS 9:30, I HAVE BEEN UP SINCE FIVE FREAKING AM, I AM EXHAUSTED AND I WROTE THIS IN ABOUT TWO HOURS. 
> 
> I have no idea how it turned out. Watch me wake up tomorrow and reread this and not remember writing any of it.

Part One. Ann Arbor, Michigan.

-

This is all Holtzmann’s fault.

Admittedly, yes, they had let her keep using her ghost-slash-bear trap, even knowing that she could potentially be funneling ghosts into Michigan, but Erin has spent nine of the twelve hours of this drive horribly, awfully carsick, and she’s in the mood to blame someone. The fact that Holtzmann spent most of the time driving doesn’t help; even in the minivan that Abby insisted they take instead of the hearse, Holtzmann still drives like a rally racer who’s not aware that she’s on a freeway and not a dirt track.

Which, is how she finds herself face down on the hotel bed, even though she’s back home. Or what used to be home.

She’s not sure how she feels about Ann Arbor, now. It is home to University of Michigan, which feels like Erin’s first, true home in many ways; back when it was her and Abby against the world, and Erin was no longer under the roof of two parents who belittled her every move. Erin loves this city, she always will, but there are some memories attached to it that are painful, and still cause her mouth to fill with the taste of guilt.

Which is maybe why she is lingering in the hotel room she’s sharing with Patty longer than she strictly has to for her stomach to settle and her headache to quell. But the others are waiting for her in the lobby, and she drags herself from the bed and downstairs.

They’ve taken over an entire corner, and there are papers and cups emptied of coffee and maps and highlighters and some of Holtzmann’s tools scattered across the tables. Erin slides into a spot between Abby and Holtzmann, and smiles in greeting.

“You feeling better?” Abby asks, and at Erin’s nod, instantly returns to business. “Okay, Holtz, can you explain the whole situation to Erin?”

“Of course,” Holtzmann drawls. She’s fiddling with something that looks suspiciously like an alarm clock, a bit of wire wrapped around her finger. “So, one of our ghostly friends wanders into my ghost trap. Said ghost trap is remotely triggered by yours truly, and boom!” She drops the alarm clock with a clatter to clap her hands together. “Sucker is zipped away and no longer our problem. And for the ghosts that aren’t as strong, it’s too much of them and _pzzt_ , they’re vaporized!” She makes a gesture like pulling a string taut.

“What defines not as strong?” Erin asks, and she feels a flicker of hope that this won’t be as hard as she’s expecting.

Holtzmann winces. “Yeah. Class I and II.”

Erin groans. “So…we have to find Class III and IV ghosts…that we already busted…and somehow get them contained? How many are we talking about here?”

This time, all three of the woman sitting beside Erin wince. Patty shoves a piece of paper toward Erin.

“We’ve worked it out as best we can. Marked down all the busts where Holtzy’s used her trap and how many of those busts had Class IIIs and IVs. This is the number we came up with.”

Erin squints at the piece of paper, scribbled over with Abby’s messy scrawl. Finally, she focuses on a number circled near the bottom, and her eyes widen.

“ _Fourteen_?”

Abby pats Erin’s arm. “Hey, at least we have a week.”

There’s a clunk as Erin’s forehead hits the table. They haven’t even done anything yet, and she already feels exhausted.

It’s going to be a long week.

-

“Come on! _WHY_?”

Erin pulls a strand of hair, dripping with gloopy green ectoplasm, away from her skin. She makes a face and lets it fall back into its place.

Holtzmann bounds over, reaching up to help Erin wipe the goop from her eyes. She’s grinning wildly, flushed from a successful bust, and when Patty and Abby come up, she whoops and high-fives them.

“That ghost just got _Holtzmanned_!” She crows, twirling her proton gun on her finger. She spins to face Erin again. “Sorry, Er. I couldn’t wait for you to get out of the way.”

“Clearly,” Erin complains. The ghost had been proving too difficult to capture, and so they had moved to just straight-up destroying it, a task Holtzmann had taken on with great glee. And, naturally, Erin had been the one standing behind the ghost when it exploded, showering her in ectoplasm for the third time that week.

She’s quickly figuring out that out-of-state busts are a massive pain. This is their first one; maybe two weeks ago, the mayor’s office had been contacted by the mayor of Ann Arbor, asking for help with their “sudden” influx of ghosts. It wouldn’t have taken a scientist to figure out why the city was suddenly being plagued by ghosts.

And, Erin thinks, as she accepts the ratty towel Patty hands to her attempt to towel off her hair before leaving the library basement, she’s getting really tired of getting glared at by hotel staff every time she gets slimed.

“So,” A cheerful Abby says and they climb up the back stairs, Erin’s boots loudly squishing with every step, “Fourteen ghosts in seven days. Made it just in time, and it must be a new record.”

“We’re the ones setting all the records,” Patty says, pushing open the door into the alley behind the library and squinting in the sunlight. “Before us, the record of ghosts busted in a week was zero.”

“Don’t squash our celebration,” Holtzmann says, throwing an arm around Erin’s shoulder, seemingly unconcerned about the ectoplasm. Erin’s stomach does a funny little twist, and she’s not sure why.

“We should celebrate!” Abby says, lighting up at the idea. “We leave tomorrow morning so we won’t have time tomorrow, though. And Erin still needs to shower, and we know that takes a long time when she gets slimed.”

Erin opens her mouth to defend herself, slightly offended, then closes it. It’s true. She thinks that it would be easier to wash gum from her hair than it is to get all the ectoplasm out.

“So, let’s celebrate!” Holtzmann says, grinning. “We’re young- or, at least, I am, the rest of you are ancient-“

“HEY.”

“We can handle being out past our bedtime.”

Patty sighs. “I feel like I’m going to regret agreeing to this, but what the hell. Okay. I could use a drink after this week, anyways. Er? You up for it, baby?”

No, she’s not. All Erin wants to do is curl up in bed with one of the books she borrowed from Patty and pretend that she doesn’t have another twelve-hour drive to look forward to the next day. But pleading way Holtzmann is currently looking at her is making her hesitate.

“Come on, Er-Bear,” The engineer pleads. It looks like she’s attempting to pout, but she’s smiling too much for it to be working well. “It’ll be fuuuunnnn.”

Erin kind of doubts that (she’s not huge on bars, which is where they’d inevitably end up), but she sighs. “Okay, fine.”

“Yes!” Somehow, even with the thirty-pound proton pack strapped to her back, Holtzmann leaps up in the air as if it weighs nothing, pumping her fist. Erin smiles, watching as she bounces away.

(She misses the knowing look Abby and Patty share behind their backs).

-

They do end up at a bar. Erin shivers, because for some reason they’re blasting air conditioning despite it being September, and her hair is still wet from her shower, thanks to the lack of time to dry it. She’s squished into a booth clearly only meant to fit one person on either side, so she’s practically sitting in Abby’s lap. The loud music is already starting to give her a headache, and she’s wondering if there’s a way she can bow out early without disappointing anyone when Holtzmann and Patty come back, each clutching two drinks. Patty slides into the booth first, passing a drink to Erin as she does, and Holtzmann does the same to Abby.

“Cheers to another series of successful busts, ladies!” Holtzmann says, and holds up her drink for a toast. They clink glasses and all drink. Erin wrinkles her nose at the burn of alcohol, and resigns herself to a loud, long night. She might as well enjoy it while she’s here.

And, slowly, she does.

She’s sore and tired and after a week of a creaking hotel bed she is really, really ready to go home. But she’s starting to catch up on the other’s post-bust giddy high, and Holtzmann is on a roll, and it’s not long before she finds herself laughing so hard her stomach starts to hurt, as Holtzmann does an exaggerated and yet wildly accurate impression of Patty. Patty is following right along with her best impression of Holtzmann, and they’re having an entire conversation as each other, and both Erin and Abby are _dying_ on their side of the booth.

Eventually, though, Holtzmann stretches and slides out of the booth, gesturing at the empty glasses on the table. “I’m going to go get refills. And, as much as I’m sure I could carry all the glasses myself, I have since be banned from carrying more than one thing per hand since the Easter egg incident. Unless the ban can be lifted…?”

“NO.” Patty and Abby say at the same time, and Erin gives Holtzman what she hopes is an apologetic yet agreeing look, but probably just ends up closer to a grimace. But the eye contact makes Holtzmann lean far over the table, grabbing Erin’s hand where it’s resting against her empty glass.

“Come on, Er!” She pulls Erin out of the booth, Erin clambering awkwardly over Abby’s lap, and probably would have fallen if Holtzmann hadn’t caught her. Holtzmann’s off, sliding through the crowd with an ease Erin envies, and it takes her twice as long to reach the bar as Holtzmann because she spends the entire time apologizing to anyone she even walks kind of close too. When she does, Holtzmann is leaning against the polished wooden bar, trying to catch the attention of the bartender at the end. Erin slides up next to her, Holtzmann smiling in greeting.

The bartender catches their eye. She’s younger than them, than Erin especially, but probably only younger than Holtz by a year or two. She has long hair dyed hot pink and large black glasses on her nose and she smiles at them as she comes down the bar.

Holtzmann orders the drinks, rattles off the words quickly and easily, and Erin wonders if maybe she should be turning down another because the speed makes her head spin. But the order has already been placed and Holtzmann is humming and bobbing her head along to the music, and Erin keeps noticing the bartender glancing up at them, eyebrows furrowed as she thinks.

She finishes the drinks and places them on the bar, but she doesn’t go to the next customer. Instead, she rests her elbow on her fist and raises an eyebrow as she asks a question.

“I feel like I should know who you two are,” she says, “But I can’t place it.”

“Well, y’know, we’re recognizable,” Holtzmann says, and there’s a smile curling up at the corner of her mouth and something odd about her voice that Erin can’t quite put her finger on. Not a bad odd, the opposite, if anything, but still…odd.

“Don’t tease me,” the girl says, and although she twists her face into a look of annoyance, too much good humor comes through her voice for her to be truly irritated.

“Have you heard of the Ghostbusters?” Holtzmann asks, and, again, there’s an odd smoothness to her voice, a strange curl at the end, and the bartender’s eyes light up, and she laughs.

“Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you beforehand!” She gestures at both of them. “I mean, look at you! Of _course_. I guess just seeing you outside of pictures and…well…not in jumpsuits threw me for bit of a loop.”

“How do you feel about me out of a jumpsuit?” Holtzmann says, and this time her smile comes with a hint of teeth, a glimpse of a pink tongue, and _oh_. She’s flirting. That’s why she sounds odd. She’s flirting with the bartender.

She’s flirting with the bartender, and the thought makes her reel, stunned, like she’s just been punched. Because Holtzmann flirts with _Erin_ , it’s what she does, but she doesn’t flirt with Erin like this.

With Erin, her flirty is goofy and strange like the woman herself, and, if viewed by someone from the outside, wouldn’t appear like flirting at all. This, though, is different. This is practiced and smooth and efficient, and the bartender is smiling back in a way that makes a surge of anger arch through Erin’s limbs, no matter how much she tries to squash it down.

The room feels too hot, suddenly, and Erin stammers something about going back to the table, but she’s not even sure if Holtzmann heard her. She wanders back through the room in a daze, the four glasses held haphazardly, and barely manages to not drop them on the table. Abby and Patty break their conversation to smile at her and reach for their glasses, and it’s Abby who notices something on Erin’s face, her smile turning into worry.

“Hey, you look funny. Do you feel okay?” She reaches up to feel Erin’s forehead for a fever, an action that, any other time, would have made Erin bat it away, and make some comment about Abby’s role as the mom-friend. But instead she forces a smile and tries not to look back at the bar.

“Fine!” she chirps, too brightly, and now Patty’s face is creased in concern, as well. “I’m just kind of sore.”

Both woman relax.

“Girl, I know,” Patty moans. “I’m going to sleep for a week when we get home.”

Abby sighs, closing her eyes at the thought. “Oh, I know…and taking an actual bath, no more crappy showers…”

Erin smiles, nods, and sips at her drink in the right places.

Holtzmann doesn’t come back to the table.

-

In the morning, they find her leaning against the minivan she’s affectionately christened the Anti-Ecto-1, bag slung over her shoulder and a cup of coffee in her hands. Her hair is in a loose bun at the nape of her neck and she’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, rumbled and wrinkly. Erin swallows hard, and there’s a dark feeling crawling up her throat.

Patty smiles knowingly. “Have a good time?”

Holtzmann’s face breaks into a beaming smile. “Did I ever! Man, we need to come to Ann Arbor more awesome, if it’s full of girls like Lucie.”

Erin coughs.

Abby, who’s the exact opposite of a morning person, grunts grumpily and steals the coffee cup from Holtzmann’s hand. Holtzmann doesn’t protest, instead she slings her now free arm around Erin’s shoulder, and Erin flinches at the touch, because she’s still feeling the roiling jealously deep in her stomach.

And that jealousy makes her feel guilty, because she has no right to be jealous, because Holtzmann is her friend and that means Holtzmann can spend the night with pink-haired bartenders if she wants to. And Erin shouldn’t be jealous, because she and Holtzmann are friends.

 _Friends_.

They all pile into the minivan, and Patty claims the driver’s seat, Holtzmann the passenger, so Abby and Erin are left to squeeze in the back with the luggage they couldn’t fit in the trunk. Erin puts up no protest; she doesn’t think she could spend the next ten to twelve hours next to Holtzmann, anyways.

She places a palm on her lower stomach, presses inwards as if she can push the foreign feeling out. But with Patty teasing Holtzmann nonstop, it doesn’t work that well.

-

Part Two. Boston, Massachusetts.

-

There’s a hand curling around Erin’s throat, pulling tight with a panic her body isn’t ready to let go of.

Abby’s going to be fine, she is fine, concussion and dislocated wrist and broken ribs aside. She’s not happy in the least, because the doctors said they needed to keep her at least overnight for observation, and Abby hates hospitals for one, and the fact that she’s in a hospital in _Boston_ , and doesn’t even know any of the nurses, unlike the one in New York (they’ve become well acquainted with the nurses of the New York-Presbyterian, thanks to Holtzmann’s uncanny ability to burn herself on things that shouldn’t even be hot, and cut herself on things that shouldn’t even be sharp). So, yes, Abby’s pissed off and in pain every time she breathes and annoyed by the stream of nurses, but she’s going to be fine. She needs rest and pain meds and a brace for her wrist, but she’s going to be _fine_.

But Erin can’t stop remembering the way Abby looked at the bottom of those stairs, splayed and so, so still.

She’s still in her jumpsuit, they all are, standing at the head of Abby’s hospital bed as the doctor talks. Patty’s taking notes on her phone about medication and rest and healing, and Erin’s grateful because she’s normally the one that does that but she doesn’t think she can, right now.

 Her left leg is dripping green ectoplasm over the clean hospital floors, the slime soaking through the fabric of her jumpsuit through the legging she’s wearing beneath. Her fingers and feet are tingling with an adrenaline still not quite worn off, and her chest is tight.

Holtzmann says something, and Abby laughs, then winces and holds her side.

“Shit, that hurts. I should have aimed for something softer than the bannister…hey, Erin?”

Erin can’t, because anxiety is sinking black claws into her brain, and the room is too white and bright and sterile, and she’s trapped and she can’t breathe and she’s spiraling and the floor is tilting beneath her feet, vision tunneling and she _runs_. Patty and Abby and _Holtzmann_ call out after her but she keeps going, and it feels like the walls are pressing in on her.

Erin can’t stop remembering the hollow _thud_ Abby’s head made when it hit the railing, the _crunch_ her body made hitting the floor.

She bursts into the bathroom, blessedly empty, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as the panic attack pulls her under, brutal and efficient, leaving her gasping for air and staggering for balance as the floor tilts and spins beneath her feet.

Erin grips the edges of the sink and forces air into her lungs. In, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold. Abby is fine, Abby is irritated and sore and totally _fine_ , and she knows this, she _does_ , but anxiety is not logical and she can’t stop _remembering_. Nothing is working and everything is spinning and her skin is too tight and she can’t she can’t _she can’t_ -

She hears the door open, and cautious footsteps, but she doesn’t look up from where her knuckles are turning white on granite countertops, fingernails digging in her palms in a desperate attempt to stop the spiral.

“Erin?” Holtzmann’s voice is soft, careful. “Hey, Er.”

Erin turns, and she’s sure she’s wild eyed and _feral_ , but Holtzmann just takes her hand, places it on her own stomach.

“Erin, feel me breathing. Try and match it, okay?”

Erin takes a shuddering breath, trying to match the rise and fall under her hand. Slowly, slowly, the floor becomes solid beneath her feet again.

“Are you okay?” Holtzmann asks, and Erin laughs, once, sharp and humorless.

“I should be,” she says, and she all but collapses on the little couch against the wall. “I should be. Because Abby’s fine.”

Holtzmann perches on the very edge of the couch.  She’s just talking, just sitting, just listening, head tilted to the side, watchful.

Erin twists her fingers together. “I mean, we’re no stranger to hospitals, but this is the first time it’s been something serious. Something other than a twisted ankle or a few bruised ribs or you burning yourself because you thought it was a good idea to actually reach into the toaster to get a stuck piece of toast.” She closes her eyes, and the image of Abby, sprawled at the bottom of the staircase rushes over her again, and Erin is standing at the top of the stairway again, a scream dying in her throat because Abby is so _still_. “If she had hit a little bit harder, if she had landed on her neck or head instead of her hand and arm, if it had been her skull that hit the edge of the stairs instead of her ribs…” There’s a lump in Erin’s throat. “We wouldn’t be here. We’d be downstairs as she is added to the morgue.”

Holtzmann is silent for a long, long time. She opens her mouth, then closes it, and, finally, slowly says, “But she didn’t.”

“I know.” Erin buries her face in her hands. “I know. But I can’t stop thinking _what if_.”

There’s a hand, settled on her shoulder, and Erin looks back up. The touch is hesitant, careful, and Holtzmann is looking concerned. She scoots closer to Erin, and, after another moment of hesitation, wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. She’s still wearing her jumpsuit, like Erin, and she notices that there’s a scorch mark on her shoulder. Erin sighs, and leans her head against the top of Holtz’s.

“I hate feeling like this,” she says, and Holtzmann’s head moves beneath hers.

“I think it’s the hospital,” Holtzmann says.

Erin gives a small laugh, for real, this time. “I hate hospitals.”

“They’re the _worst_.”

They’re silent again, and Holtzmann’s fingers are tapping a gentle tempo against Erin’s leg, an absentmindedly movement that Erin finds herself focusing on. Her heartrate has returned to its normal speed, but if she concentrates, she can almost imagine it’s beating in time to the little taps. The thought gives her a rush of an emotion she can’t identify. And it’s not a bad emotion, it’s just new and different and she thinks she likes it.

Patty comes and finds them, later. Holtzmann has fallen asleep against Erin’s shoulder, and it makes Erin feel guilty to wake her. But Holtzmann stretches and yawns, lets Erin pull her to her feet, and sets off down the hallway, shuffling in the heavy black fireman’s boots she still sometimes insists on wearing.

“What was that all about?” Patty’s voice is causal, but the look she’s giving Erin is anything but, and Erin can feel her cheeks heat, although she’s not quite sure why.

“Panic attack,” Erin says by way of explanation, even though she knows Patty already knows, even though she knows that’s not really what she’s asking.

“Hmm.” Patty gives Erin another long look, and Erin clears her throat, uncomfortable, and pushes open the door to Abby’s room.

Abby’s still arguing with a nurse about how she should be allowed to go home. The nurse looks near tears in frustration, and Holtzmann is watching it with great amusement.

(the drive home the next day, with a headachy, still irritated Abby, is not fun).

-

Part Three. Mount Blue State Park, Maine.

-

Erin hasn’t been camping since she was a teenager. She used to be dragged up to Cedar River for four days every summer, and always came back mosquito-bitten and sunburned. Her last trip was the summer after she met Abby, and she had invited Abby along for that trip, and it was the most bearable one out of the ones beforehand.

It was still pretty awful. She doesn’t get the appeal of sleeping in a shelter made of flimsy fabric in the cold with _bugs_ and _dirt_ and _wind_. Which is why she was less than thrilled about them being sent to Maine to take care of a ghost that’s been causing havoc in one of the state park’s ranger stations. And, for some reason, it meant camping.

It takes them most of the afternoon to figure out how to set up the tents, and it probably would have taken them only a fraction of that time if they had just let Patty and Abby do it, but Erin and Holtzmann managed to put their tent together wrong a grand total of three times before Patty got frustrated watching them struggle and just did it for them, but not before calling them sorry excuses for geniuses.

And, yes, there is a silver lining to the entire trip; Erin is sharing a tent with Holtzmann. A small tent. The thought makes her equal parts giddy and nervous.

Now, though, the campfire is turning into coals, and Patty and Abby are digging up the stuff for s’mores that none of them can remember buying, and Holtzmann has disappeared. Abby turns to Erin, the light from the fire creating an orange glare across her glasses.

“Why don’t you go tell Holtzy that we’re ready for s’mores?”

Erin looks around. “Where is she?”

Abby frowns. “Your tent, I thought.”

“She was headed in that direction last I saw her,” Patty says, pointing toward the Anti-Ecto.

“I’ll find her.” Erin stands up, brushing the dust from her jeans.

“Do you want help?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Erin instantly regrets leaving the warmth of the fire, and wraps her arms around herself as she heads in the direction Patty indicated. She already knows it’s going to be a long, cold night, and she regrets not packing gloves.

“Holtz?” She calls, stopping on the small, dirt road and looking up and down it. “Holtzmann?”

“Right here!” Holtzmann’s voice sounds close, but when Erin looks around, she doesn’t see her. She hears Holtzmann laugh, then say. “Look up!”

Erin does. Holtzmann is on her stomach on the roof of the Anti-Ecto, peering over the edge at Erin, a smile on her face. Erin shoves her hands in her pockets, tilting her head back to meet Holtzmann’s eyes.

“What are you doing up there?” Erin asks, and Holtzmann’s smile gets wider.

“I’ll show you. Come on up.”

It takes a few minutes, and Holtzmann coaches Erin upwards. She heaves herself onto the roof of the van, puffing for breath, and she’s sure that what just took her several minutes took Holtzmann all of five seconds. Holtzmann is sitting, crossed legged, head tilted, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. Erin rolls off her stomach and sits up. Holtzmann has dragged a couple of the blankets up here, has one wrapped around her shoulders, another spread across the roof. There’s a flashlight and a hunk of machinery Erin doesn’t recognize, but other than that, the roof is empty.

“You look cold. C’mere.”  Before Erin is really aware that Holtzmann is moving, the blanket is being wrapped around her, too, and she’s flat on her back, left side of her body squished against Holtzmann’s. The night has suddenly gotten warm, and she makes a little noise in the back of her throat. Holtzmann doesn’t seem to notice.

“Look,” she says, and Erin is confused for a second, and then she looks up.

You can see the stars. You can actually see the stars. There’s no light pollution, no smog, and the only clouds in sight are wispy, dark specks against the moon. And Erin knows this should be breathtaking, because after almost fifteen years of living in the middle of New York City, where you don’t see the stars. She should be gazing upwards, she should be finding them amazing and beautiful.

And yet.

She can’t take her eyes off the woman beside her. Holtzmann has her hands folded across her stomach and she’s smiling up at the night sky, so perfectly _happy_. And they’re already pressed together on the cold roof of the Anti-Ecto but Erin wants to reach over and pull her _closer_ , and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know why her heart skips a beat and why her body is filling with burning embers dying to be set alight and why it feels like all her atoms, her very _being_ , is being pulled closer to the warm body beside her. She doesn’t know why and it’s terrifying and wonderful all at once, and she feels her breath _hitch_ , and Holtzmann looks over and _smiles_.

Holtzmann’s eyes are the clear blue of early mornings and there’s a night sky opening in Erin’s chest, bright and beautiful and breathtaking.

“Hey! You two! S’mores!”

Abby’s voice breaks Erin from whatever trance she’s in, and Holtzmann bolts upright, gasping.

“S’mores! Why didn’t you tell me, Erin?” She scampers off the roof of the van as nimbly as a cat and is off toward the orange glow of the campfire by the time Erin’s barely swung her legs over the side of the van. She lands on her feet, feeling the shock of the short fall in her knees.

Abby is still standing there, arms crossed over her chest. “So,” she says conversationally, in a casual that Erin knows it a total and utter lie. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Erin asks lightly. Abby rolls her eyes.

“That, Erin!” She gestures at the top of the van. “That was a _moment_.”

“I don’t know,” Erin says helplessly. “I don’t know!” she takes a breath, rubbing at her forehead. “It’s just, whenever I’m around Holtzmann I…I feel like _something’s_ about to happen, but I don’t know what that something is or _why_ I feel this way, and it’s so confusing, Abby!”

Abby looks utterly delighted. “It’s not confusing, idiot!” She says with entirely too much glee. “You’re head over heels in love with her!”

“No, I’m not!” Erin protests, then stops.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oooh.

“That explains a lot,” Erin says softly, and Abby sighs.

“I would think so,” she says, and tucks her arm through Erin’s, smiling fondly. “Come on, Casanova…let’s go eat s’mores. You can deal with this emotional tsunami later.”

So Erin does, casting glances across the fire to Holtzmann. And then she spends the entire night up, listening to the soft sounds of Holtzmann breathing, tucked in a sleeping bag barely a foot away. She curls her fingers into the fabric of her pajama top, right above her collarbone. She’s in love with Holtzmann.

Actually admitting it to herself causes both rush of relief and a tightening of panic in her chest, and she closes her eyes. She spends the rest of the night wide awake.

-

Part Four. Seattle, Washington.

-

Holtzmann gets there before them, which is concerning. She’s waiting for them at the airport, leaning against the Anti-Ecto with the back door already propped open.

“I kind of want to know how you got here seven hours before you were supposed to,” Abby says, heaving her suitcase into the open trunk of the van. “But at the same time, I think the knowledge would be worrying.”

“I can tell you how,” Patty says, plucking the keys from Holtzmann’s hand. “By breaking every traffic law in existence, that’s how.”

“Not _all_ of them,” Holtzmann says cheerfully, and hops into the backseat with Abby. “Just most of them.”

Erin laughs. She’d considered driving with Holtzmann and all the gear instead of flying down with Abby and Patty; the idea of three days uninterrupted with Holtzmann _almost_ good enough to ignore the fact that it’s three days in the car with Holtzmann driving. But, probably thankfully, Patty had managed to talk to her out of it.

The entire reason they’re in Seattle is simple; the owner of a hotel had contacted them about a month before. The hotel has a reputation for being haunted; but within the last few months, a particular ghost has been driving away business. They were offered free rooms at the hotel, which they accepted, and after they check in they wait in a small, private room for the owner.

Patty is just about over the moon. “Seattle is such a haunted city, guys!” She says, excitement bleeding into every syllable. “There’s this bar- Kell’s -in Post Alley that’s supposedly haunted by a little girl with red hair a dude named Charlie that appears in the windows. There’s a bridge that’s haunted by the ghost of a dog that got stuck in a car when the original bridge collapsed, and there’s a high school that’s haunted by one of the old students…” she laughs, flicking through the guidebook in her hands. “Why haven’t we come here sooner?”

“Because someone doesn’t ever want to leave New York,” Holtzmann drawls, digging a gentle elbow into Erin’s side, before smiling and wrapping her arm around her. “I think she’s allergic to travel.”

Erin makes a little scoffing sound in her throat, trying to pretend that her stomach is turning flip-flops thanks to the closeness of the engineer. Both Abby and Patty are giving her knowing looks, which only cause her cheeks to heat.

Luckily, the owner comes in seconds later, saving her from a potentially very embarrassing situation.

-  
The bust is over quickly. Almost disappointingly quickly; the woman, from the late 1920s sucked up into a containment unit in under ten minutes. The owner is still extremely thankful, however, and now they have four days to kill with nothing to do.

So they do touristy stuff, which is a new thing for them. Patty drags them on a couple of tours (which turn out to very interesting), Abby and Holtzmann go to the science museum and the sci-fi museum while Erin and Patty explore the huge, beautiful library and the art museum a few blocks further. They go up to Capitol Hill so Holtz can take a selfie with the rainbow sidewalks and they watch people throw fish at the market and ride the Ferris wheel at the waterfront.

And it’s fun; Erin hasn’t done anything like this in a long time, since before she got the job at Colombia, even, and it’s really nice to just have four days to do whatever they want to do. But, as the fourth day draws to a close, and she’s packed and ready to go, there’s a gentle knock on the door to the room that she and Abby share.

She opens it, and Holtzmann is there, leaning against the doorframe, hands in her pockets.

“Hey, Er,” she says, and there’s something strange in her voice. “I was wondering…would you want to go somewhere with me?”

It’s almost eleven at night and they have to get up early the next morning to catch a flight and Erin was just about to take a shower and change into pajamas, but she hesitates. Because Holtzmann looks so hopeful, and the look turns Erin into some soft, unfamiliar creature, and she wants to go. She wants to go anywhere Holtzmann might be taking her.

Erin glances back at Abby, who’s sitting on the floor folding clothes. Abby makes a shooing gesture, mouthing _go_ , and Erin steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

“Okay,” she says, and Holtzmann takes her arm.

They load into the Anti-Ecto, and Holtzmann pulls out onto the street. Erin leans back in the seat.

“So…where are we headed?”

“A place,” Holtzmann says, unhelpfully, and Erin scowls even though she doesn’t mean it. They sit in silence, and Holtzmann, much to Erin’s surprise, leaves the city. The roads are empty this late at night, but Holtzmann turns up and around, and drives down a waterfront on the other side of the city, visible on the little corner of the sound.

“Holtz?”

Holtzmann smiles and parks the car. She hops from her side and rounds it, pulling open Erin’s door.

“We’ve been in Seattle four days,” she says, taking Erin’s hand. “And you still haven’t gone for a swim.”

-

The water is _freezing_. Erin yelps as it brushes against her toes, jumping backwards. Holtzmann, already knee-deep, laughs.

“Come on, Gilbert! It’s not that cold!”

“It’s cold!” She says, hoping from foot to foot on the beach. “Really cold!” She hears laughing from up the beach, and she’s pretty sure the people sitting at the fire pit a few yards away are laughing at her. She doesn’t really care (at least, she tells herself she doesn’t,) and grumbles under her breath.

“Look, Erin! It’s an unfamiliar ocean in an unfamiliar city! Doesn’t that seem kind of magical?” Holtzmann wades out towards Erin, reaching out both hands. “Doesn’t that seem kind of romantic?”

Romance. Probably said totally innocently, another instance of friendly flirting. But. There’s something in her face that makes Erin’s heart _catch_. So she reaches out and takes Holtzmann’s hands, lets herself be pulled deeper into the waves. Soon, they stand knee-deep, Erin on her tiptoes to try and prevent her pants, rolled up a little past her knees, from getting wet.

“It’s cold,” she says again, and several things happen at once. First, Holtzmann, smirking, tries to smoothly pull Erin toward her, saying something about keeping Erin warm, and Erin’s foot slips and she falls, backwards, arms flailing, crashing into the cold water. As she does, she manages to snag one of Holtzmann’s arms, and, with an accidental heave, pulls the engineer under the water after her.

They both pop up immedietly, gasping and spluttering and spitting salty water.

“Erin!” Holtzmann says, laughing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Erin tries to push herself up, out of the water, but a wave knocks her back down into a sitting position again. “I’m fine!” And she’s laughing now, too, and they’re both laughing and sitting in freezing water, a beach and bonfires at their backs and the night sky above their heads and the glow of a city across the way.

And there’s something. A spark, maybe, and Erin stops laughing, suddenly, hauls in a breath, and Holtzmann freezes, too, laugh dying on her lips.

Erin’s suddenly aware how close they are, gripping each other’s arms, knees bumping with every wave that hits them. And she watches the way that Holtzmann licks her lips, watches the way she leans forward and her hair falls over her face and the way she brings a hand up to cup Erin’s face.

And they’re kissing. They’re in an unfamiliar ocean on the banks of an unfamiliar city and an unfamiliar feeling is coursing through Erin’s veins, and Holtzmann’s lips taste of saltwater and her hands are gripping Erin’s arms like she’s afraid Erin is going to leave.

Erin’s not going to leave. She’s not going to ever, ever leave, because this is months of pining, released all at once because Holtzmann is _kissing her back_ , is kissing her hard and purposefully and Erin is kissing just as hard back.

She doesn’t know how she’ll explain this to Abby, later, when they get back to the hotel. And, honestly? She doesn’t care.

-

Abby raises an eyebrow as Erin creeps back into the room, still wet to the bone, but too full of _warmth_ and _Holtzmann_ to care.

“Have fun?” She asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Erin smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Couple o' things: I considered having them do the bust for the Sorrento Hotel, which is supposedly haunted by the ghost of Alice B. Toklas (who allegedly invented pot brownies, because Seattle), which I'm sure Holtzmann would get a kick out of, but the hotel is pretty cheerful about being haunted, and says they have a hip fourth-floor ghost. And, also, Hotel Andra tries really, really hard to pretend that they don't have a reputation for being haunted by ghosts of the 1920 and 1930s. And all the other places I mention? Yep. But, I mean, it's Seattle. Our most popular haunted house is in a morgue where a massacre happened (it's called The Georgetown Morgue. Look it up. I'm being totally serious).
> 
> (and, for those curious, the beach Holtzmann and Erin go to is Alki. Even though firemen will literally come and yell at you if you have a bonfire later than 10:30. I took some creative license.)


End file.
